Written by: Joe Maverick

Little as a mountain can be,
near waters calm and an idling breeze.

Inland wheatfields sun on ears,
expanding 45 gallon cans suppressed echoes hear.

Semi's engine drone all day to the railhead clear,
sweat running on flesh like honeyed tears.

Sweet and fetid the elder scent
canvas hats the horizon swimming and bent

mealy lung invading dryness thick,
creaking timberd floor and a rustling''quick''

then a sunbeam falls,
on  wheat shed door and cobwebbed wall.